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He sits still
demanding your attention.
He stares at you with green eyes
and a defiant look, saying
you are a visitor here,
this is our world
so do not abuse your privilege
of sharing this space with us.
We were here long
before you arrived
and our kind will
be here long after
you depart, although
we do not comprehend
why you always seem
to want to rush
yourself headlong
into extinction.

Good night, Sisyphustry to get some sleep.It’s been a long dayand you already knowthe rock will await youwhen you arise in the morning.I suppose by now you’ve come to realizethere is no percentagein pissing off the Gods.Think of this as a personalre-education centerwhere right thinkingis the lesson of this and every other day.Did you really thinkthey would let you standin the middle of the Squareopenly mockingall of their edicts.Sleep old fellow,we have all the timein the world, it isone of the benefitsof immortality.

For on this day there is no peace,for on this day some are laid to rest,for on this day others shed endless tears,for on this day many are wringing hands,for on this day many offer hollow words,for on this day they know they should actfor on this day they know they will not,for on this day we think about tomorrow,for on this day we think of those without tomorrows,for on this day the sun did rise,for on this day the earth did rotate,for on this day God was elsewhere,for on this day we were all too human.

In memory of the lives lost and changed forever at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School.

They stood at the altarof the ancient templeand prayed for peace.They lit the joss bundleand placed it inthe great cast iron burner.We all bathed in the smokeof a hundred bombsfalling in perfect harmony.

Lao Tse, venerable oneyou would be pleasedas I sit heredrawing closer to the centerquested for my Buddhahoodbe not seeking itamid the rain of firefrom the hillsabove the bloodcongealing in the streets.I know not to askand am unseenby the child and motherrunning through the streetand untouched bythe hail of ammunitionbiting at their heels.I smell the lotusmixed with the corditegiving scent to the morningand in the clouds see the approachof understanding.

The salmon peopledon’t live here anymoreyou have moved themup the river, then inlandso they no longer need to wander.

The salmon do not swim here anymoreyou have dammed the riversto draw out their powerand penned the mighty fishwhere the river first licks the sea.

The eagle doesn’t fly here anymorethe great pinesthat sat for generationsbelow his aerie are nowcut into neat supportson which we hang our walls.

Our children do not run here anymorethey have movedto the cities, have gone offto wars for fightingis the only jobwhich they are given.

We have no riverswe have no salmonwe have no sons, save thosewho sleep under neat white stones.We look for the eaglea mighty spiritbut he, too, has been claimedby the others to decorate their buildings.We have only our spiritto guide us and we knowthat soon you will claim them tooand leave us as you arrivedto repeat the sad story.

The empty wine bottlenestling the footof the postal boxwants nothing morethat to speak its mindbut it is forsworn to silence, and staresinto the old Maytag boxtucked in the alleynext to the dumpster.The bedraggled mansits against the walland debates the meaningof knowledge withthe Buddha lyingin a fetal ballon the soggy asphalt.